


he felt like fire and rain at once

by astrangepurplefairy



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Boys In Love, Canon Era, M/M, Stressed Out, enjoltaire - Freeform, so this is angst, some throwing of glasses but not at each other, they die in the end, this hurt a little bit to write, whispered love confessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 03:26:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19737367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrangepurplefairy/pseuds/astrangepurplefairy
Summary: the night before Enjolras and Grantaire die





	he felt like fire and rain at once

**Author's Note:**

> so this is pure angst and sadness im ngl but it gave me emotions writing it  
> also if this is trash im sorry

Grantaire was wiping down the table as if he owned the bar, black curls in disarray on his head and green eyes simple. Enjolras sat at the table in the corner, surrounded by papers and still watching the drunk as he cleaned quietly.

Quiet. It was something most never saw from one like Grantaire. Enjolras sometimes thought it was his life’s goal to be loud and ridiculous enough to annoy everyone to death, but then he saw him in the early hours of the morning, thinking quietly and to himself, cleaning the bar of an inn that wasn’t his, and Enjolras knew that he was putting on an act. That whoever he became when others surrounded him was not was he truly was, in his heart of hearts.

Grantaire leaned against a barstool, covering his eyes with his hand, shoulders in a dejected slump. Enjolras kept his blue eyes on him, waiting for him to say something, but he just stayed there silently.

“Grantaire.” Enjolras called in a near-whisper, words echoing across the soundless room.

“Enjolras.” Grantaire responded mockingly, straightening from his position and slapping a stupid smirk on his face. 

Enjolras felt blood rush to his face, a surprising bout of cowardice shooting through him, and shook his head. “Nothing. Never mind.”

“Tut tut,” Grantaire teased, sauntering across the room. “Let’s hear it, shall we,  _magnifique_?”

Enjolras’ entire face was bright as a cherry. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.” He murmured quietly, looking back to his papers.

Grantaire sobered. “I’m fine, Enjolras.” He snapped, before making his way back to the bar.

Enjolras looked up in stunned anger. “Pardon, Grantaire? Have I offended you in some way?” He snarled sarcastically.

Grantaire shook his head and let out a harsh chuckle. “This is your fault.” He snapped suddenly, chucking a whiskey glass across the room. It shattered loudly against the wall beside the door, shards scattering across the floor. “We’re going to die tomorrow, and it’s _your_ fault!”

Enjolras’ hands curled into fists atop the table. “ _We’re_ ?” He asked sharply. “The last time I _dared_ to  inquire, you were not part of the revolution.”

Grantaire shot him a darkened look. “Don’t be dull, Enjolras.” He said simply, hands tightening in his cleaning rag. “It lessens your appeal by leaps and bounds.”

“You hate what we stand for!”

“Yes, but I don’t hate who is standing for it!” Grantaire yelled, throwing his cloth down.

Enjolras stilled. He swallowed heavily, studying the way Grantaire’s green eyes had lit and his chest rose and fell rapidly. The word beautiful flashed on and off in Enjolras’ mind, and he pushed it aside. Far aside. “Mustn’t show fear, Grantaire, it may interfere with the drunken disguise.”

Grantaire made a sound, somewhere between disgusted and hurt. He shook his head, searching for words, and apparently found none. “I wasn’t trying to show _fear_.” He spit finally, and the words unspoken hovered between them and scalded Enjolras’ skin. “But you’re right, I’m not a part of your revolution. Pardon me, for coming between you and your precious  _Patria_.” Grantaire snarled.

For a reason he couldn’t describe or understand, tears pricked in Enjolras’ eyes. “Gr—“

Grantaire sketched him a bow with a harsh, mocking grin. “If you’d excuse me, Enjolras, I believe there are some saddened ladies waiting to be wooed.”

Enjolras’ flinched back as if slapped and watched the smile fall from Grantaire’s smug face. Still, he turned away and started for the stairs, pausing only at the last moment. Grantaire turned his head, as if he were to look back at Enjolras, but then he looked forward once more and disappeared from view.

Enjolras dropped his head onto the table, hands curling into fists and crumpling papers as they went. It was something about the way Grantaire had left; miserable as Enjolras was, and still looking as if he hadn’t wanted to, stilling before the stairs like he’d had to force himself to turn away.

It was a secret that Enjolras had kept for a year now, that he desired Grantaire mind and body.Never had he spoken it aloud, as though not saying it would make it any less real. Every time his eyes fell upon Grantaire’s face, he felt his heart leap up into his throat and his oh-so-practical mind become a jumble of confusion and desire and Grantaire’s name, over and over. It was the darkest and most fervent want of his soul. The most forbidden. Grantaire was right—they could very well die tomorrow. And never would he understand how dearly Enjolras felt for him.

Enjolras felt a tear slip from beneath his closed eyelids and banged his fist into the table, eyebrows drawing tightly together. He lifted his head and swept all the papers off the surface in harsh movements, growling through gritted teeth as tears rolled down his face. There was nothing anymore—just the hope that perhaps someone would find hope in their cause and finish it after they were gone.

Enjolras had thought he was ready to die. For Patria, he’d sworn he was.

But he wasn’t.

Enjolras kicked the table over and gasped in a heart-wrenching breath, face crumpling as he hid his head in his hands and slid to the ground, sobbing quietly. There had never been a reason before Grantaire, not truly. Enjolras had just been stumbling stupidly through life, walking around, waiting for Grantaire to find him. Waiting for his emerald eyes and his sharp wit and his once-in-a-lifetime smile that he seemed to have reserved especially for Enjolras. He was ridiculously, completely in love with Grantaire, and there was no earthly happening that could change it. No words to be spoken, no thoughts to be had that could possibly sway Enjolras’ heart. Not when it belonged to another.

But at least Grantaire would not die tomorrow.

Hands, on his shoulders.

“Enjolras,” a gentle, familiar voice said, beside his ear.

Enjolras turned and looked up into Grantaire’s lovely face, feeling his heart ache in his chest. Tears made harsh tracks on his face, blue eyes bright and glistening.

When Grantaire spoke again, his voice was painfully choked. “You don’t have to do this tomorrow.” It was a suggestion, but it felt like a plea. Grantaire sank down, until he was knee-to-knee with Enjolras. Like this, Grantaire was only a half-inch taller than him.

Enjolras shook his head. “I do.” He sighed. “I cannot abandon my men now. Not when they lie in their beds praying it won’t be the last time they get to. And I wouldn’t be able to call them off if I tried. If I wanted to.”

Grantaire started slightly. “You don’t want to?”

He shook his head, slowly. “I don’t want to die, Grantaire.” He wouldn’t meet Grantaire’s searching green eyes. “But I want to make a difference. I want Paris to know what her life could be. I’ll die for her every chance.”

Grantaire shook his head sadly, but as if he had expected no less. “You really are perfect, Apollo.”

“Why do you call me that?” Enjolras asked, grabbing Grantaire’s hand when he made to remove it.

His green eyes flashed. “He is the most beautiful god there was.” He said simply. “Made of gold and beauty. With a face like the sun and a temper like fire. He brought the daylight with him when he greeted the world. And you bring the daylight with you, too. In your soul. A soul too bright for any sun, moon, or star to surpass.”

“Grantaire.” Enjolras whispered.

“Don’t die tomorrow.” Grantaire begged, putting a hand on Enjolras’ face. The blonde closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. “Promise me you won’t.”

Enjolras sighed. “You know I can’t.” He said sadly, putting his hand over Grantaire’s. “You know,” he started, in a voice so low that it was just the breath from his lungs. “That I’m going to die tomorrow, Grantaire.”

Grantaire made a choked sound, the sound of a soul leaving a body, a heart breaking in half, and a tear fell from his eyes. “I—“ He breathed, restarting when his voice broke and his body was shaking too hard to speak. “I wish we had time, Enjolras.”

Enjolras braced his brow on Grantaire’s, hand wrapping around the back of his neck and twining through the black curls. “I as well.” He whispered, as Grantaire shook in his arms and he kept his tears at bay desperately, hidden behind those green eyes.

Enjolras leaned forward and pressed their lips together so gently it almost felt like a ghost, the whisper of a kiss, the forgotten promise of a life they might have known. That they would know, in their next bodies. They would find a lifetime to be together. Enjolras promised his spirit he wouldn’t rest until it happened.

When he leaned back, Grantaire whispered words too soft for Enjolras to hear and too important not to. Enjolras knew exactly what he had said, what words fell from his lips as another, single tear mirrored the fallen one on the opposite side of his face. He knew the confession of love would be the first and last Grantaire would ever say in truth. Knew that it was true by the pure heartbreak in his voice.

Enjolras pulled Grantaire to him with the force of two stars crashing together, taking him tightly in his arms and burying his face in Grantaire’s neck as he whispered love confessions with a heavy sort of relief, that seemed to swallow him whole. Grantaire’s arms came back around him, holding him just as tight as they knelt on the floor and became wrapped in the warmth of the other, the soul-breaking weight of the love of those too late.

They did not disconnect until Enjolras untangled himself from Grantaire’s sleep heavy limbs and gazed down at the boy once more, his black curls lit with early sun, his green eyes shut, and turned away from him.

Enjolras met each pair of eyes looking at him, stared down the barrel of each gun pointed at him. His friends were dead, their bodies lying in pools of blood beside him. He would die as well. He had run out of time.

Enjolras would change so many things, if he could. He would have told these men to turn away. He would have found some other, better way to improve his Patria. He would have told Grantaire he loved him the moment he knew. The moment he had first walked into the inn and let Enjolras lay eyes on him.

Grantaire.

Grantaire, his love.

Grantaire, who owned his soul.

Grantaire, who was standing at the stairs.

His eyes were bloodshot and swollen. His hair was sleep-mussed, his shirt ruffled and creased. He stumbled across the room, taking in the guards pointing guns at his love and the acceptance on Enjolras’ face.

Grantaire would not leave. Enjolras knew that. So he just raised his head, standing proudly beside his love as they faced the soldiers, and raised the flag of freedom into the air.

They fired.

Grantaire’s lips were still forming  I love you when he died.

Enjolras breathed it just a moment before he stumbled out the open window and hung, dead.

In his last second, Enjolras wished he had died holding onto Grantaire’s hand.

The red flag of freedom did not slip from his fingers.

**Author's Note:**

> ooof  
> that hurt  
> kudos and comments??  
> have a great day loves!!  
> <333


End file.
